


The New Normal

by lankyguy



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-29
Updated: 2012-11-29
Packaged: 2017-11-19 19:46:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/576973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lankyguy/pseuds/lankyguy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a pinch Bond knows who he can trust.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The New Normal

James Bond was being pursued. No new thing, that. Some person, or shadowy organisation was often chasing 007. He was hardly alone in that, the double-Os were high risk, usually short-lived, brutal agents. Though often more bludgeon than scalpel, they got the job done.

Bond was one of the more long-lived of the current crop. It was an ongoing subject of discussion and bets as to when his ticket would get punched.

Any minute now the bodies 007 had left in his wake, would be found and an alarm would go out. Q calculated that the handsome, heroically built agent had but scant minutes to get out of the building.

Headed to the nearest bank of lifts, 007 arrived just as a perfectly timed door opened.

Bond got on, and was immediately confronted with a familiar face.

“Q,” Bond said, “fancy meeting you here.”

“Bond,” Q returned. He had caught sight of that crinkle at the corner of Bond’s mouth, that small smirk, the only evidence of any astonishment that Q was there. The young Quartermaster felt his heart flutter. “M is rather concerned.”

“I gather. That why you’re here?”

“Not at all, but do be so kind as to stop the lift.”

“There’s no time-” 

“007, you have five minutes to get out of the building. The lift down will take two. What I need to do will take two, leaving one to spare. Now hit the bloody button.”

“Fine,” Bond punched the red stop button in the car.

“Open your shirt.”

“Really, Q, couldn’t we at least have drinks first?” Bond smiled as he unbuttoned the pressed white shirt, revealing a bandage on the left side of his broad chest.

Q ripped it off.

“Ow!”

“Shut it,” Q said, and pulling a pair of tweezers out of a small case, he began picking at Bond’s latest bullet wound. With one hand splayed on Bond’s bare chest, he became painfully aware of Bond’s breath on his neck. The heat emanating off 007's body felt like a blast furnace. Bond bent closer for a moment, and Q swore he could feel Bond’s lips hovering close to his neck, but... 

“There!” Q pulled a tiny piece of shrapnel out of the wound. “This is why you should have these things looked at immediately. Thought you would have learned that after the last time.”

“Taken worse.” Bond said flatly. 

Q thought he heard a twinge of disappointment in Bond’s voice. “Yes, well, this bullet’s shrapnel was trackable,” Q held the piece of metal up in the light triumphantly. He dropped it in a small, manila pouch and sealed it.

“Pardon?”

“They’ve been following you. That’s why you’re in this mess,” Q admonished the agent.

“How did you know?”

“Low level interference over the earpiece. It kept bothering me, so I sussed it out. Played a hunch.”

“You couldn’t just tell me?” Bond asked.

The slender Quartermaster sighed and ran a hand through his mop of perpetually dishevelled black hair. He spoke to Bond as if he were an errant student. “Would have done, but you took out the earpiece when you took the young lady to bed and you never put it back in.”

“Jealous?”

“Hardly.” Q hit the stop button and the lift began it’s quick descent. He held up his phone for Bond to see. It displayed a red dot on the maps screen. “I found you the same way that they did. And do button up your shirt, 007.”

“Are you certain that’s what you want?” Bond asked.

“There’s no time,” Q rolled his eyes. There was that damn crinkle at the corner of Bond's his mouth again, that hidden smile that tormented Q. He looked down at his watch, “Three minutes. Perfect.”

“What are you going to do with the shrapnel?”

“There’s a courier waiting,” Q explained, with a mischievous lilt in his voice. “I hear Siberia is nice this time of year.”

“Quite,” Bond flashed his best movie star smile and Q’s stomach lurched. Bond looked up at the blinking numbers, highlighting their descent. Almost there.

“Oh, and here’s another palm print Walther.” Q pulled a black case from his satchel and opened it up. “As per your request, this one will explode if someone else tries to fire it. So, do be careful and try not to lose it.”

“Thank you,” Bond took the Walther and put it in his shoulder holster. He turned to Q and grabbed him and gave him a quick kiss just as the door opened.

“Wha-what on Earth was that for?” Q stammered, following the older man into the lobby.

“Seemed like the right thing to do,” Bond winked. “And well deserved, for coming out all the way out here in the real world to help me. Besides, you’re cute when you're surprised.”

They walked out of the hotel. A courier was waiting on a motorcycle. Q handed him the package containing the shrapnel. The man rode off in a roar. 

“Now, where are you off to, care to give us a hint?” Q turned back to Bond, but he was gone.

“Bugger,” Q said, reflexively raising his fingers to his lips. Behind him he could hear commotion in the hotel. Time to go. The young Quartermaster raised his hand to hail a cab.

***

A week later as Q was returning home he looked up and started. The light in his front window, set on a timer for 18:00, was out. Checking the home security system via his smartphone, he could immediately see that the alarms had been disabled. Someone had been in his flat.

Calling it in was the proper procedure. Q had training, as anyone working in MI6 must have, but he was hardly a field agent. Regardless, he was not the sort to go charging into a room, guns a blazing, that's what the double-Os were for.

That stopped him, It had been almost a week, since 007 had checked in. Off the grid all that time, though Q had a good idea of his itinerary from following the trail of bodies and explosions and appearances on the CCTV feed. Remembering Bond's penchant for showing up at the deceased M's home unannounced, he made a decision, gritted his teeth and went in the door.

“If you're going to sneak into my flat, you probably should have left the lamp alone. Why did you turn it off?” The minute he walked in the smell of gunpowder and blood and Bond’s musk hit him.

“Let you know I was here,” Bond said from the darkened corner. 

Q immediately noted that his voice was off, it was low and strained. “Are you well, 007?” Q turned on a table lamp, preparing himself for the sight.

“Not especially, no.” Bond tried to stand, then stumbled. He was muddy and dirty and his white shirt was drenched in blood and his leg- 

“Bond!” Q cried out and raced to help support the agent. “You've been shot!”

“Again.”

“Yes, again, you know you really must stop getting shot,” Q chided, amazed to hear himself say such a bloody ridiculous thing. He helped the strapping agent sit back down in the chair.

“I’ll take it under advisement.”

“We need to get you to a hospital.”

“Can't do that,” Bond protested. He tried to stand, only to have Q push him back.

Q immediately understood. “That's why you came here. Got it. Hang on.” He ran into his kitchen grabbing towels and poured water in a bowl. Walking back in the living room. He sat beside Bond and opened up the agent’s shirt. He gasped.

“Sorry,” Q frowned. 

“That bad?” Bond asked.

Grimacing Q, examined the wound. “No. Not so bad. Just not my usual forte, is all. Shoulder looks like it was just grazed, more blood than damage. Not all of it’s yours I’d wager.” That got a chuckle from Bond. 

Q got up went to the sofa and pulled a metal briefcase, out from underneath. He placed it on the floor by the side table and opened it. “Emergency surgery kit.” He explained.

Using the water and towels to clean Bond as best he could, Q bandaged the shoulder wound and then turned his attention to the leg. Bond had wrapped it in a makeshift bandage, which was soaked in blood.

Q pulled a pair of scissors out of the drawer in the side table. He cut off the bandage and starting at the hem, cut up Bond's trouser leg, opening it up all the way to the waist.

“Knife,” Bond explained.

“You’re lucky it didn’t get the artery, but you're going to need blood.”

Bond tried to smile. “Happen to have any laying about?”

Smiling wryly, Q pulled a bag of blood out of the briefcase, he taped it onto the wall behind Bond’s head.

The smile succeeded in opening on Bond’s face, “I knew I was right to come to you.”

“I like to be prepared. You never know when some handsome, double-O will show up uninvited. But do let’s try not to make this a habit.”

“You think I’m handsome,” Bond said. The crinkle made it’s way to the corner of his mouth.

Damn you, Bond. “You know you are,” Q countered.

“But your approval is hard to come by, and thus, better worth the earning.”

“Did you really just quote Jane Austen?” Q was amazed.

“More or less,” Bond teased. “I can read you know.”

“I know-”

“I don't seem the type?”

Q flushed, he’d underestimated the man. Again. “Yes. Sorry.” He noticed that one of Bond’s hands had found its way to his leg. It rested there, affectionately.

“Thank you - for this. Sorry about the chair,” Bond said.

“Hated it anyway,” Q lied, rather badly. “Gift from my... From M. The previous M.”

Q hoped Bond didn't notice the pause, but given the weight of Bond’s gaze upon him, was certain he had. The Quartermaster fumbled nervously with the tourniquet.

Bond almost laughed. “Do you even know how to find the vein?” 

“Hard not to on these arms, like corded steel.” Q pushed the needle in the vein easily.

“Flirt.” 

He took a moment to survey Bond. ”Shoot out at low-tide on a mud flat at the Thames,” Q said noting Bonds muddy shoes and rain soaked overcoat hanging on the hook on the door. “Possibly at Limehouse Reach, or even Riverside Wharf. Mud's the right colour.”

Bond registered the assessment with a flick of his eyes. Q nodded.

“Three-” Q started, then at twitch of Bond's left eyebrow. “No, four. Four assailants. Leave any alive?”

Bond started to answer.

“I suspected not,” Q said. “All well and good, they did fire first.”

“Impressive,” Bond murmured.

Q smiled. “Not at all I assure you.” Reaching down into his surgery kit he brought out a staple gun.

“Did you nick that from the office?” Bond asked.

“Not likely. Specially designed surgical staples, they will dissolve as you heal.” He pinched the edges of the wound shut and stapled them together. “Interesting wound.”

“Knife.”

“So you said. Looks like a hunting knife. Deep, but no serrated edge,” Q droned. “Definitely not military. Something classic. Maybe a Bowie knife.”

“Exactly who are you Q? What is your name, your real name?” Bond asked, genuine curiosity in his voice. 

“You've read my file.”

“Yes,” Bond said quickly. “I assume it is full of as much fiction as mine is, ‘Jeremy.’”

“Quite,” Q smiled.

“I like that,” Bond returned the gesture. “You smiling.” 

Q slid a hemostatic compression sleeve up Bonds leg.

“Like the rugger's wear?” Bond asked.

Now that Bond was safely out of immediate medical danger, Q suddenly became aware of their proximity. Nearly sitting in the man’s lap, his hands on 007’s meaty thighs, Bond's left hand resting casually on his own leg.

Q tried to keep his voice from quavering. “It's a - a design from the Quartermaster department. It will keep the wound closed and support the muscle while you heal.”

“More of your work?” 

Q shrugged in response. Bond took it as a ‘yes.’

“Now, let's get you to bed, 007.” Can't believe I got to say that, Q thought.

“I can stay here.”

“In the chair? Nonsense,” Q pulled the blood bag off the wall and carried it, whilst helping support Bond as he stood. They made it into the bedroom, and 007 gingerly dropped onto the bed. Q taped the transfusion bag to the wall.

“Your bed?” Bond asked.

Disappearing back into the living room, Q called out, “I converted the guest room into a library some time ago. So yes, you are sleeping in my bed. Rest assured, I will do my utmost to resist the temptation to ravish you.”

Reappearing with a needle and syringe, Q injected it into the line going from the blood bag to Bond’s arm. “Just a sedative and vitamins.”

“I trust you.” Bond closed his eyes and drifted off quickly. 

Q wondered how on Earth that happened, Bond trusting him, and why did he feel the same? Coming from a notoriously distant family, he had few friends, and preferred it that way.

Pulling a blanket out of the closet, he lay it on top of Bond, tucking him in. The younger man spontaneously gave 007 a kiss on the forehead before going back into the living room and lying down on the sofa.

***

Q woke up, to find Bond sitting in a chair next to him reading the morning paper. 

“Good morning,” Bond gestured to the tea kettle sitting on the side table next to Q. There was a cup, sweeteners, cream and even a bagel, all waiting for him.

“You've been out,” Q said surprised. “Your recuperative abilities are really quite extraordinary.

“A bit,” Bond agreed. “Though I suspect there was a bit more than vitamins in that cocktail you injected me with me last night.”

Q feigned a hurt look as he stirred his tea. This elicited a half laugh, half snort from 007.

“I took a shower and borrowed a set of clothes. Surprised you had any that fit me,” Bond continued. 

There was something buried in the remark, curiosity or jealousy, Q could not be sure. “Story for another time,” He yawned, deciding not to take the bait. “Any chance of you coming in?”

“No. Have to see this through,” Bond pointedly rustled the paper. Q noticed the article Bond had indicated with the fold. A clue. Perhaps to help Q keep an eye on him, or an eye out for him? Bond was being cautious, even here. The walls might have ears.

Q nodded. “I gathered as much. Still, had to ‘make the attempt’ and all that, so I can put it in my report.”

“Of course. Well, said. And Q?”

“Yes Bond?”

“Thank you,” Bond bent down and kissed him full on the lips. It was a real kiss not just a friendly peck. Q was quite taken aback. 

Bond moved to the door and pulled his coat on. “You can add that to your report if you like.”

“Not on your life,” Q replied as Bond darted out.

***

It was a week before he saw Bond again. 007 was waiting in the Quartermaster's lab one morning when Q arrived. He was sitting at work station reading the morning paper and drinking coffee as if nothing had happened.

“Bond.”

“Q.”

“Nice to see you in one piece. Everything go all right?” Q asked, though he knew the answer. He'd covertly followed Bond's every move in the last week.

“You should have a CC'd copy of my report in your email.”

“How did the Walther preform?”

“Spectacularly. Detonated at just the right moment.”

“Glad to be of service. Anything I can help you with?”

“Just waiting on a meeting with M,” Bond turned the page.

“Jolly good,” Q said to himself and set about his morning routine. 

The assistant whose desk it was Bond occupied arrived then. The young man blanched and looked around. Q made no remark past that of a challenging raised eyebrow. 

The assistant found a new workstation. Bond shared a look with his Quartermaster over the paper. Q didn’t need to see 007‘s mouth to know he was smirking, the eyes told it all.

The first thing Q did was read Bond's report, occasionally looking at the agent in surprise. Q started to ask 007 a question at one point, but thinking the better of it went back to reading. Several times he raised his head to find a smile waiting for him from Bond's piercing blue eyes.

Whilst making notes, Q abruptly became aware that Bond was standing at his elbow. The muscular agent placed a hand on his shoulder. 

“Something interesting?” Bond asked looking at Q's writing.

“Thoughts on some new gear for you,” Q looked up. Bond's hand moved affectionately from Q's shoulder to the nape of his neck, his fingers entwined in the thick, black mop of hair.

Bond looked at his watch. “I'm off.”

“Right.”

That was the state of their new normal, Bond would often spend his free time at MI6 in Q branch. It wasn't much, as he was perpetually on assignment, and when he was there, he didn’t do anything, he was just there. The double-Os always caused a stir whenever they were in Q branch, but this new intimacy between 007 and Q alarmed the rest of the staff.

Q, found Bond's presence comforting and they began to assume a casual physical familiarity, that was much talked about.

**Author's Note:**

> No beta, no brit-pick, all errors are mine. Let me know of anything egregious and I will correct it. Thanks!
> 
> I borrowed the alias "Jeremy" from aria_dc_al_fine's 'Love in Codes.'


End file.
